Matrix Light 1: Prophet's Heir
by Wavelength
Summary: First story in a series, a mysterious figure delivers the Matrix during the Revolution.


Matrix Light: Prophet's Heir  
by Wavelength  
  
Disclaimer: All Transformers characters and concepts contained herein belong to HasKen and Marvel Comics. Any characters I created are free to borrow, just ask first.  
  
It stands at the center of Autobot civilization. Those whom it has chosen are legend. Those few who have dared take it by force have gone down in infamy.  
  
Repository of the past, symbol of the future, the very light of the life of Cybertron, it is the Matrix.  
  
May its wisdom illuminate our paths.  
  
******  
  
Starlight's tip was right, he thought. The factory's Guardian robot was down for repairs, a holographic mock-up taking its place and leaving the facility vulnerable to Rebel attack. Too bad the Quints had prepared for such an occurrence.  
  
The Sibyl and Primo were just hurrying the last of the newly activated slaves out when the walls came crashing down on them. And then they were trapped.  
  
He hoped the Quints had just gotten lucky. Hopefully they hadn't found out about Starlight's inside information. Without her and others like her, who risked their lives passing data to the Resistance, those who had freed themselves would have been wiped out long ago.  
  
Of course, being killed might have been easier, Primo reflected as he held the weight of a building on his shoulders. Sibyl was on the floor below him, his gladiator's physique keeping the wreckage from flattening her as much as it protected himself from the same fate. Her, he wondered. Why had he always thought of the Sibyl as a Femme? Setting his optics to their best low-light capacity, he could barely make out the slim yet masculine form of his most trusted lieutenant. The only illumination in their little cave, aside from the red light his optics cast, was from the glowing energon flowing freely out of her crushed legs. It mixed with a dark fluid his sensors told him was iron-based to create viscous clots against the machinery pinning her. If either one of them got out of this situation alive, it wasn't likely to be the Sibyl.  
  
Primo knew his best chance lay in dropping his burden and digging, but he couldn't. He knew it was the intelligent thing to do, knew Maximo would have, but he couldn't. He had never abandoned any of his Rebel group, unlike Maximo. Rumor had it that the huge green ex-gladiator lost people almost decabreemly, abandoning his injured, treating them like they were expendable.  
  
All of them were willing to die for the cause, but Primo had seen that few were ready. So when the Sibyl had gone down in the exploding factory, leaving her never entered his mind. Instead, he had stood over his lieutenant's body and caught the falling foundry ladle that threatened to kill her, then supported everything that had fallen on top of it. The effort taxed his strength, and there was nothing he could do about the bank of computers on her legs.  
  
He shifted a micron as the building groaned above him and prayed to the First One she had taught the Rebels about. Primus, whose name was so like the one he bore, given to him by the Quintessons for his prowess in the ring. The same Quintessons who would have killed him so soon after he became self-aware, if the small black robot hadn't rescued him. Sparks had come to him and his opponent at the worst possible moment. After he realized what he was doing, he had refused kill the defeated M-7 unit, who had no name. He was nanoclicks from death for disobedience when the Sibyl popped up with a spear gun from a hole in the arena wall. Her blank faceplate gave no indication of her intentions before she skewered the guards and spirited Primo and the deep blue M-7 to safety.  
  
She had proven her marksmanship time and again as she protected the confused pair in the tunnels under the surface. It seemed as though a map had been etched into her lasercore, she knew them so well. He and the M-7 were the first gladiators she rescued, but she soon collected many more ex-slaves, among them the champion fighter the Quintessons had dubbed Maximo.  
  
Her innate skills became even more valuable once the Rebellion began in earnest. Though she always stayed with his group, she had helped set up the M-7, who now called himself Megatron, in Polyhex. She had done the same for Maximo in tourist-oriented Crystal City, and hidden his own group and the one A-3 and Beta led in the sprawling factory complex of Iacon.  
  
The Sibyl was the only mechanism who knew the names and faces of every Rebel. She did her best to keep the identities of other Rebels from individual Cybertronians in his group and railed at him when he mentioned names or descriptions of those outside his cell. Most of them stayed with their own groups for safety and knew little of the others, so they couldn't compromise security badly if captured and interrogated.  
  
She was even interrogated herself once, in Tarn, but the Quints were baffled by her brain structure. They couldn't get anything. Thundershock had rescued her while the local authorities had been awaiting the go-ahead from the Ministry of Science to disassemble her and learn its secrets. He was placed in contact with the local Resistance group in return for his help.  
  
She had shown her trustworthiness many times, though she was still a mystery. Obviously not of purely Quintesson design, she could pass for either military hardware or consumer goods, given the right accessories, and had, on several occasions. In that respect, she reminded him of the new product line the Rebels were requesting of Vector Sigma, a group that contained the best characteristics of both previous lines. Her chassis was neither male nor female, just a simple matte black that bore traces of both. Her face gave no clues either, being a blank black oval with a black optic band on top, only distinguishable because of its higher refractive index.  
  
She had become his best friend, though Starlight was a close second. The three of them were quite a group. Diminutive white Starlight, timid because of the danger of her role, himself, a hulking orange-gold warrior thrust into leadership, and Sibyl, always sure and confident in her dark, enigmatic way. They were like opposite ends of the spectrum, both quiet and powerful, but seldom agreeing, with him being an explosion of action where they met in the middle.  
  
The Sibyl's dark optic band ignited, a black flame casting a bit more light in their tiny refuge.  
  
"Primo? Are you there?" her husky feminine voice asked.  
  
"Right above you," he grunted, trying to keep any trace of emotion out of his voice.  
  
"I can't see you." She craned her neck in an approximation of up.  
  
"It's dark. Boost your gain."  
  
"It is boosted. My optics are as sensitive as they'll go," she answered.  
  
A bad sign, that, he thought. The Sibyl had always had average night vision, she should have been able to at least see his optics. Unless her energon was that low that she couldn't spare the power.  
  
"Primo," she said, "Remember what I told you, about the future?"  
  
Her famous prophesies came into his mind. The ones that hadn't come true. She claimed they'd win this war, and become powerful on a galaxy-wide scale, but none of the foretellings would occur during her lifetime. So many prophesies, and he'd filed them all, hoping to see her bright future for himself.  
  
"You think you're dying, don't you?" Primo knew she was dying, and wished he could spare a hand from holding up the giant bucket to comfort his friend.  
  
"I know I'm dying. And I want you to know something before I do. The leaders of Cybertron...," she halted and the sound of her fuel pump became audible as it struggled to give her vocorder power.  
  
"The leaders. The Builder, the Warriors, the Chosen who will light our darkest hour. You've told me. Rest now. Someone will come for us," he announced with certainty he didn't feel.  
  
"No. I can't rest. It spoke to me. It told me the time is now."She pushed up off her stomach and onto her elbows, drawing a sickening grinding sound from her tortured legs. Something appeared in her hands, just before he went blind.  
  
"What did you do?" he roared.  
  
"Turn down your optics. The Matrix casts a lot of light."  
  
He did so, and the light went down to a tolerable brightness as his vision returned. The familiar scene was bathed a scintillating blue glow from the coppery-cased object in her hands.  
  
"This is the Matrix of Leadership. It holds the wisdom of the people and speaks in the voices of those gone to be with Primus," she paused, "I brought it with me when I came here. This is what told me the prophesies. Now it tells me that you are the Builder."  
  
So much for living to see the Golden Age, he thought, but told Sibyl instead, "Me? I trust you, my friend, but me as the leader of the whole planet?"  
  
"You will become a great leader," she reassured Primo.  
  
The space was becoming noticeably warmer as her systems labored. "After I die, get out of here. We're near a wall and there are probably people searching." She pushed the Matrix toward his feet with her right hand. "Take this with you. If you can, install it in your chest compartment before you dig out. It will give you strength."  
  
Primo became alarmed. He decided to chance letting go with one hand and crouched further, keeping his left hand in contact with the ceiling of their shelter. It creaked dangerously, but held. The future leader took the seer's hand in his own.   
"I can't lead alone," he said.  
  
"You won't be alone. The Matrix tells me you will have help, the Peacekeeper and the Guardian among them." The Sibyl's voice grew fainter and her optic band winked out again. AYour task is to finish this war and rebuild the planet. And, of course," her voice betrayed a smile her faceplate was incapable of, "to seek out the Chosen One. He will be needed to save our people and countless others in our darkest hour."  
  
Primo squeezed her hand hard, waiting out the last moments.  
  
"I fear I won't be with you much longer, my friend. You have made my stay here more valuable than you can imagine. Until all are one, Primo, when we meet again, may the Matrix guide you."  
  
They spent the next few breems in silence as the Sibyl's systems shut down one by one. Primo thought about what she had said, and the Matrix glimmered at his feet, looking for all the world like it was pleased to be there.  
  
At last, the blue light showed the Sibyl's armor fading from black to gray. She had been in great pain, but had left the world peacefully.  
  
He was unsure. Part of him wanted to left go of the ceiling entirely, allow it to crush them both. Still, he remembered what she had said, could hear it echoing in his head even now. "Install it in your chest...give you strength." Primo picked up the Matrix in his free hand and clearly heard his lieutenant's voice say, "Will your chestplate open."  
  
He almost dropped it in shock. Sibyl was dead. She had gone to be with Primus. He heard one of her rare laughs. So far, Primo thought, this Matrix was all she claimed it to be.  
  
Will his chestplate open? As in think it that way? He had nothing to lose, why not try? At least it would be easier then trying to remove it one-handed.  
  
He thought about it, and waited for the clank that would be his armor hitting the floor after the clasps at its edges released. Instead, servos he was certain he didn't possess opened his orangish chestplate right down the middle, along a seam he hadn't had before. At the same time, his internal components rearranged themselves to make room. He then inserted the Matrix in the socket it had seemingly designed for itself, and his world expanded immeasurably.  
  
Suddenly, he was no longer alone in his own mind. Many thousands of voices and faces flashed through his consciousness in a glowing blue haze. There were more individuals than he had ever known in his entire life, which had been long when compared to the average Cybertronian slave.  
  
Four stood out from the crowd of familiar and alien faces, four who jockeyed for his attention. Not the least of these was his recently departed friend, the Sibyl. By her side towered a massive red and yellow robot. The pattern on his chestplate and the crest rising from his back marked him as belonging to the flames in the Forge of Creation. Behind him was an even larger red and blue robot who looked lost and troubled. A comparatively tiny black and gray fuzzy robot attempting to comfort him was the only unfamiliar specter who did not bear a consumer good slave brand. Primo couldn't figure out why, but he became acutely aware of his own military hardware brand, though it had never bothered him before.  
  
The Sibyl spoke, her male companions content to observe for the moment. "Hello, Primon. How do you feel?"  
  
"Confused," he replied, walking toward her. "I think this is the Matrix." Sibyl nodded. "Who are your friends?"  
  
Primo, or Primon now, reached out to the dark robot, and found his hand going through hers. She remained silent, her shifting stance revealing her discomfort.  
  
The mech patterned with fire spoke for her. "Shay doesn't know our names, Primon, and if shay did, shay couldn't tell you directly if shay tried. It's not in hir make-up."  
  
"The Sibyl was," the small dark mech said, "or will be, sent as a guide from a time beyond mine, to make certain events unfold as is best for the people. As they did to produce the timeline we know."  
  
Primon was livid. "You are my friend, Sibyl! And you've been leading me, all of us, along all the time!" He made as if to shake her, then threw his hands up in frustration. "How are so many deaths best for the people? How was your death best for the people?!"  
  
Quietly, she answered, "It is best because you have the Matrix now, Primon."  
  
"Why do you call me that?! My name is Primo! Why is your precious Matrix so important?! It didn't do you any good! You still died!"  
  
Softly, the red and yellow mech stepped up behind Primon and grasped his hands, stopping their flailing. "Our names stand for what we do as much as who we are. All the leaders of our people, the bearers of the Matrix, from now on, will be called Prime. Your old name is still a part of you, but you are also Primon now." His face took on a wistful demeanor, as if he himself wished he still used his original name.  
  
The largest robot, silent till now, found his voice to reply to the second question. "The Matrix," he paused, roughly, "is the most powerful object our people possess. Not the power to destroy, but the power to create. The knowledge and wisdom of all of us is available through it. With that, we can do anything."  
  
The flame-marked mech let out a low whistle, and his furred companion stared at him.  
  
Primon slowly began to calm. "Let me get this straight. You," he pointed to Sibyl, "came from the future," his finger realigned on the males, "where you all come from too, and you wanted to push me along to make decisions," his optics bored into his lieutenant's featureless faceplate, "to cause the future you came from to occur?"  
  
Again, the red and yellow one made a noise, this time like a sigh, and rocked his head on its universal axis joint. "I hate temporal mechanics," he muttered.  
  
Primon couldn't help but agree with him. "If I'm to lead the world into your," he stared hard at the Sibyl, "glorious future, I need to know something about it. Exactly where are you from, Sibyl?"  
  
She looked incredibly uncomfortable as her mind raced, until an idea came. "When all are one," she replied brightly.  
  
The small furry robot jumped in with, "Life like you can't imagine. We were on the way while I lived, but there were still so many divisions. Peace felt like it would never happen. Hir world, it's almost paradise!" An excited smile spread across his muzzle.  
  
Primon thought he had misheard it the first time, but the other had definitely said 'hir'. He looked to his friend with a giant question stamped across his face. She answered it easily, saying, "Gender isn't what it used to be."  
  
The expression on Primon's face changed to 'I'm lost now, can we go home, please?' and the Sibyl laughed. He was as easy to read as an uncoded datasheet.  
  
"Soon, my friend, soon. Just one more thing."  
  
All three of the male faces took on faraway expressions and the Sibyl stood stock still.  
  
This only lasted a few nanoclicks before the quartet became animated again. Sibyl took Primon's large hands in her own small black ones, and said to him, "You have been a dear friend to me. When I volunteered to come to the here and now, I was afraid that nothing but danger waited for me. But you, Starlight, and Thundershock, and Megatron, and even Maximo," Primon wrinkled the flex-metal above his facial air intake, "changed my life. I've ben happy despite it all, and we want to give you all the help we can. These mechanisms are the ones in the stories I've told you so many times."  
  
Primon looked at them with new awe in his optics. They had been acting a bit larger-than-life, but to think that these people were the future heroes of Cybertron stunned him into silence.  
  
"Shay once called me the Second Warrior," the red and blue individual reported blandly.  
  
"You'd think shay'd come up with a better name for him," the red and yellow continued. "When I was young, he was the most important person in my universe. Even after my friends called me Chosen, he was still the model I worked to live up to."  
  
"You were needed," the first retorted.  
  
The flaming one looked at him archly. "I think the exact words were 'light our darkest hour', but after that...," he was interrupted by the third male, who bore an expression of long-suffering annoyance.  
  
He explained, "They go round and round with this constantly and never get anywhere. 'You're the better Prime.' 'No, you're the better Prime.' The mutual admiration society gets old after a while, even more so for me, since I think they're both legends.  
  
"You've never heard of me. I suppose you could call me the Traveler. I took possession of the Matrix after he did." He aimed a finely furred black hand in the Chosen's direction.  
  
The Sibyl volunteered more information. "He is the great secret of Cybertron. He will be born into war, the child of both sides, beholden to neither. His task is to lead us into true and lasting peace, the day when all are one."  
  
"Just before the cycle begins again," he quipped. "I don't get out much, and you can't tell anyone about me. The people have to believe the Chosen will bring peace, and he'll work his whole life to attain it. Outside the afterlife, only you know the truth, Primon."  
  
At the orange mech's ever more confused look, the Traveler grinned and said, "You're supposed to feel privileged, but we won't blame you if you don't."  
  
The Chosen still dwelled on his own role in the grand scheme. AWhy me? I worked so hard and barely got anywhere. It's not fair," he pouted.  
  
The tiny mech's mouth spread into a predator's smile. "You're so much fun to torment, you know that?"  
  
"I wish you'd taken after your father more," replied his predecessor with a decidedly nasty glance.  
  
The Warrior fixed both of them with a disapproving glare that caused them to quiet down immediately. Only in this action did Primon get an inkling of how truly young they both were, with their shame-faced countenances, while the other one seemed to carry the weight of the universe on his broad shoulders. He gave a last bit of advice before phasing out. "Do your best and keep it up, so far, you've done everything admirably."  
  
His successor had more personal advice. "Listen to your friends, especially those older than you and the ones who know you best." Primon thought of Sibyl, then of Starlight. "Chances are, if you can all agree on it, you're on course. But don't forget to listen to your feelings. They're often the wisest part of your brain." He smiled at the new Prime, wishing him luck.  
  
"Not to mention that your feelings are the only things accessible to us sometimes. Those times, we can't communicate to help you any other way." The last Prime held sway, allowing the Chosen to disappear in his own manner, which Primon couldn't see for the dust cloud it produced.  
  
"It's best not to dwell on this. Tell your friends what they need to know, and then live your life as if this never happened. Let destiny take care of itself. We all have our own wars to fight, you know. Even though yours is almost over, you can't afford to worry about everyone else's too." A flap flickered over his fluid brown left optic, and he was gone.  
  
"It's just you and me again, Sibyl."  
  
"They're still watching. Not much else to do from here."  
  
"As if being a Rebel didn't make me paranoid enough." He forced a laugh.  
  
"The others are looking for us. You have to go."  
  
Primon just stood there, shell-shocked by the information he had been given and having no idea how to 'go' from this light-filled place that was somehow inside himself. He felt her arms go around his shoulders and her hands clasp on the other side. He had no reference to tell him what such a motion meant, but it was comforting. He heard her, no, hir, voice say, "Matrix guide you, my friend. These next vorns will not be easy," and his world plunged into darkness again.  
  
The soft blue haze of the vision was gone as if it had never been. However, the burden he still held on his left arm and shoulder had lightened, and there were voices above him.  
  
"Primo!" Torch's voice, he identified.  
  
"Sibyl! Can you hear us?" Outburst's voice, over his radio and in his audio receptors.  
  
The two strongest members, also the most sensor-deficient, of their cell had come searching for the leaders. Primon answered them by voice and by radio, hoping the Quintesson threat was gone for the time being. AI'm here! Not far below you!"  
  
"We've got you by your radio signal now, but we can't raise Sibyl," Torch answered.  
  
"We'll have you out within the breem," Outburst's shout overlapped Torch's assessment of the situation.  
  
Primon felt the debris shifting more and straightened so he supported it with both hands again. "Sibyl's dead. I'm holding the roof up above the body, but I think it'll be crushed if I let go."  
  
"We'll leave the body here. I regret it, but here's nothing to transport it in, and we can't stay here forever. Lemmi and the others can only distract the Quints for so long." Torch, ever the pragmatist, sounded mournful.  
  
Clicks passed, and Primon soon felt sunlight again. As his friends pulled him out, the chamber collapsed behind him. Sibyl's chassis, and whatever time-spun secrets it still held, were sealed in.  
  
Outburst let go of his leader, asking, "Are you alright, Primo?"  
  
He stood, and realized that he now towered over both of them, when before, they had all been of comparable heights. "Physically, I think I'm better than ever. And please, call me Primon."  
  
The End 


End file.
